The Maid of Lorne (19 page)

I
t was a shameless act, performed before so many that it could not be denied later when she came to her senses. So blatant as to not be mistaken for anything else. Lara’s face flamed now even thinking on it.

Three days had passed since he’d left in the night from her bed to go off on this mission of the king’s. Three long days and three torturous nights when she’d lain awake and worried about what her father and cousin were arranging to thwart the Bruce’s, and her husband’s, plans.

She’d managed well enough in the light of day. After ordering one of the carpenters to work on her new piece of furniture, she set herself to work on the other things needed. Keeping her hands busy somehow made it bearable, and the thoughts of the terrible things that could happen to Sebastien did not take hold until the night.

Her dreams were filled with images of his broken and torn body being dropped at her feet by Eachann. Her father was there as well, calling her all the foul
names that the Bruce’s soldiers had used against her. When she ran from them, they were behind her or in front of her and to her side. The third time she woke up screaming loudly enough to draw Margaret’s attention, she knew sleep would escape her grasp until Sebastien was home safely.

Malcolm and Philippe took to avoiding her—the lack of sleep and the constant worrying over Sebastien made her a miserable companion. Catriona was using her favorite word again, but now used it to refer to Lara’s mood. Lara knew she should have more patience toward the child; however, at the tenth use of that word she lost any hope of decorum and ordered her out of the keep. She knew that Sir Hugh had quietly countermanded her orders, but she chose to ignore that.

She’d almost succeeded in regaining control over herself when that damned James Douglas arrived. Just his appearance was bad enough in her eyes, but when he sat at her table, in Sebastien’s seat, and would say nothing to her about her husband’s condition or whereabouts, she threatened to use one of Philippe’s training swords on his “valuable bits.” After crossing himself and then making a hasty retreat, he relocated himself and his men to the barracks outside the castle walls.

Then Sebastien was there, just off to the west in the firth, heading for the shore and the dock. He stood in the boat and waved—she was sure it was to her as she watched from the battlements—but she could not raise her arm in greeting. Instead, just as he stepped off the boat and was welcomed by Hugh and James and Etienne, she crumpled on the stone walkway and sobbed so hard that she lost her breath.

Lara heard his voice in the yard and tried to stand. One of the guards came running to her and helped her, crying out to Sebastien at the same time. She was on her feet when Sebastien reached the battlements and called out her name. Leaning against the wall and uncertain of what his true mission had been, she said what came to mind first.

“Did you kill my father this time?”

Horrified at the insult, she put up her hands to fend him off. Then, even worse, with everyone watching from the yard and from the battlements, she called out to him.

“And I do not love you!”

He continued his direct path to her and waved the guards off as he neared her. Putting his hands on his hips, he challenged her. “Oh, yes you do, lass. And I love you, too.”

Overwhelmed and exhausted by worry and lack of sleep, she could not think of what to do or say next. She stood and waited for him to make some move. All he did was hold out his arms, and she ran to him. Jumping into his embrace, she wrapped herself around him and just breathed him in.

“Here now, love,” he whispered to her. “I know it has been difficult for you since I’ve been gone.”

She leaned into the curve of his shoulder and let his strength seep into her. “I have not slept since you left. I have offended most of your men and all of my family. And I chased James Douglas out of my keep.”

“So I heard. James appealed to me on the docks and said he would not enter until I did something about you.”

“He said that?” Now that Sebastien was holding her, none of it seemed important. “’Twas his fault, after all. Sitting in your place and not speaking a word about you.” She shook her head. “Oh, Sebastien, it has been horrendous without you.
I
have been horrendous.”

“So, Cat still uses that word? You have not been able to entice her from it with something new?” She shook her head again. “Come, then. Now that I am home we will have to try.”

He walked down the stairs, through the hall and then back up to their chambers without ever letting her go. It was a shameful display, both her actions and her words, but most especially the way that she clung to him as though she were a clinging vine on his wall.

No one spoke as they passed by. Finally, they were in their chambers, and she knew he’d seen her gift as soon as he began to laugh. He released her legs and she tried to stand. It took her a few times before she was able to let him go. Then, the expression on his face was worth all her efforts.

It was one plank wider than her father’s chair, and deeper in the seat area. She’d sewn pillows and a cover for both this new one and the old one, and they made for much more comfortable sitting. She could see the exact moment when he thought of the use for such a chair.

“An excellent welcoming gift, but I fear I would not put it to good use this day.”

“Oh, Sebastien! I have not even given a thought to your needs.” She would never survive this kind of life with him—watching him leave on the king’s business and never knowing what he would face or if he would return to her.

“Etienne has set up food and drink for the men in the hall, love. Fret not over that.”

She scanned his body, from head to toe and back again. “Have you been injured? Did you lose any men?” She shook her head. “What happened at Glen Gour?”

He lifted his hauberk over his head and fussed with the mail under it. “Not much. We approached in the hour at dawn. Some of my men climbed the walls and overpowered the guards and opened the gates. When the laird woke to our swords at his throat, he surrendered.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nay, not in taking a keep without losing a man. Just confused, for I expected more resistance. But,” he said, finally lifting the mail over his head with her help, “there is simply no way of knowing what to expect.”

“Do not your spies tell you those kinds of details?”

“Aye, most times. However, until a man is threatened with losing his life or those he loves, there is no knowing how he will act.” Stretching his arms over his head, he moaned. “I did not realize how unaccustomed I was to wearing this lately. Three days and nights in mail is enough to suit anyone.” He dropped it in the corner and walked her across the bedchamber.

“I do not want to soil the bed with this sweat and grime. There is a bath waiting for me in the kitchens and I shall return as soon as I am clean and have eaten something. Will you wait here for me? Warm my bed until I can warm you?”

Truth be told, now that he mentioned it, she realized she was exhausted, and the thought of crawling into the bed and waiting for him was quite appealing at this moment.

“Aye, I will wait for you here,” she answered.

He helped her into bed and smoothed her hair away from her face. It felt so good and so comforting that she could sense the sleep that had eluded her these last days finally within her reach.

“Sebastien?” She called his name and he leaned down and kissed her mouth sweetly.

“Aye, love. I am still here.”

“I know that I have been horrendous to everyone while you were gone. I do admit it to you, but I cannot apologize for worrying over you.”

“It warms my heart to know that you love me, my lady.”

“Aye, my lord, I do love you.”

She remembered nothing after that, until a night and a day and another night hence.

“My lord, I beg of you! If you must leave, either take me with you or take the lady. I could not stand another three days as the last ones have been.”

Sebastien laughed. “You are whining like a babe, Hugh. I thought you a better man than that.”

“In God’s name, Sebastien, she chased the Black Douglas, the scourge of Scotland, from your hall! That should say something about the events here since you left.” Hugh rubbed his face and drank half of the ale in his tankard.

“Better yet, send her into your enemy’s keep and I promise she will drive them out, screaming like madmen, within a few days,” James added sarcastically. “She could be the Bruce’s secret weapon.”

“I thought that was you, James.”

“I would gladly yield the honor to the lady. This could be the turning point in the war.”

The men up and down the length of the table, some who had traveled with him or with the Douglas and some who had remained on duty here, laughed at the thought. Sebastien knew it was all in jest, but he needed to make it clear that no one could malign his wife.

“When she cares, she does it from deep within her heart. I am honored that she has chosen to feel this way about me.”

“Just so,” Hugh called out as he held his tankard high. “To the lady! Huzzah!”

“To my lady!” Sebastien added, and he drank deeply in her honor. Once the men went back to drinking and eating, he turned his attention to his friends. “James, tell me of your raid.”

“’Twas the same as yours. They did not know we were coming and I had my men over the walls before they woke.”

“Mayhap MacDougall resistance is broken? Eachann has not been seen or heard from in some time. The MacDougall is in the waters to the west and makes no secret of his appointment by Edward. My spies and yours have reported no large movement of troops in the area,” Sebastien explained. James and Hugh nodded. “Or possibly taking Dunstaffnage has accomplished what Robert sought to do—a base with enough presence and enough men to awe those left behind when John went to England?”

“And the winter comes soon. Anything left unsettled then waits until spring,” Hugh added.

“True,” James said. “So, let us plan this final attack so that we can all settle in for a long Highland winter.”

“Dear God in Heaven!” Hugh exclaimed under his breath. “Please say that I will go with you. Do not, I beg you in the name of all things holy, do not leave me with her again. Not this soon.”

Sebastien smacked him on the back and laughed. “I would trust no other with her—she is that dear to me.”

He permitted Hugh to grumble for a few more minutes, and then turned the talk to their plans. James had already sent half of his men on ahead to begin the approach to Invercreran. Now finished with Glen Gour and Awe, they would join forces and take for the Bruce the last holdout keep of any importance in the area.

They would prepare their attack and leave within a few days. No need to let word spread too widely that Robert’s men were on the move. Of course, that meant telling Lara, and even worse, it meant leaving her again.

“I always knew that when some woman stole your heart, you would fall hard,” James said quietly.

“Harder than I ever thought possible,” Sebastien answered. “I want this over and done so I can enjoy the fruits of my labors.”

“And the lady?” James added with a raised brow.

“And the lady,” he answered.

Her reaction was much better than he or anyone in Dunstaffnage thought could happen. She heard him out and accepted his words. She asked many, many questions and pointed out flaws in their plans. She repeated
her concerns about their safety. But, she did not lose control as she had when last he left.

They spent their time preparing for his departure, and it was not until the night he went that she demonstrated how far they’d come in their love.

Lara had looked at him with horror in her eyes when he revealed his plan to take Philippe along on this mission. Between their uncontested raids on Glen Gour and Awe, and the presence of James and his men, Sebastien believed this would be an acceptable mission for his squire and soon-to-be knight-in-training to accompany his lord.

“Please, Sebastien, I beg you, do not take the boy.”

“Lara, ’tis his place and ’tis time for him to learn.”

She knelt before him and took hold of his hand. “My lord, my father and my cousin are ruthless and will stop at nothing to kill you.”

“How do you know this?” he asked. He suspected that Eachann was making bold claims and promises, but had no direct knowledge of it.

“He said it to me that night in the chapel. Your insult to the MacDougall honor by using our priory for the Bruce’s gathering has made this a matter of personal vengeance for them. The loss at Brander Pass does not sting as much as that.”

He’d known what he was doing, and had insulted their honor on purpose. Now he knew that they knew. He smiled.

She stood and shook her head. “You wanted him to know? It was part of your plan that they should know?”

“Aye, Lara, for I enjoyed the chance to run roughshod over their honor and squash their treasonous arses into
the ground. What good is an insult if they know not of it?”

She screamed and he backed away. “So, this is a game to you as well? You and Eachann prick at each other to see the blood flow. When does it stop?”

“With one of our deaths. ’Tis the only way it can end.”

Her face paled and she shook her head once more. “Have a care, my lord, and watch for the ambush. Eachann is intent on your death and I would not have him succeed.” She began to turn away and then looked at him once more with haunted eyes. “Keep Philippe close, my lord. Protect the boy.”

“I protect those who are mine, Lara. Nothing will happen to him.”

They spoke no more of it and he departed in the night while she slept. It was easier than seeing her on the battlements as he left.

T
hey’d been gone for seven days and, with the passing of each one, her fear and anxiety grew. If Sir Hugh noticed it or thought it unreasonable for the circumstances, he said nothing. Lara controlled her behavior better this time, but the knowledge that her family knew of this coming attack terrified her in a way she could reveal to no one.

The tension finally drove her from the hall to her chambers. Unable to pace away some of it in view of Sebastien’s people, she sought the privacy of the tower. And pace she did. Minutes and hours passed as she stood at the window, walked to the cold, empty hearth and back again. Sometimes she sat in Sebastien’s chair and tried to push away the guilt within her.

Lara knew she’d caused many deaths this day, some within her clan and some of her husband’s warriors. Try as she might, she found it impossible to think of them as only the enemy now. She lived with them. She ate and drank with them. She knew their names. The acts she attempted to justify to herself as rightful resistance
to an illegitimate ruler screamed out at her when the truth of her efforts sank in.

People would die because of the plans she’d forwarded to her father.

Mayhap even her husband.

The husband she loved.

Her stomach rolled at the thought of him dead. She could see in her mind his tall form lying slashed and bleeding on the cold, hard ground. His face twisted in the grimace of death. The expressive light in his eyes extinguished because of her words. The meager contents of her belly pushed their way up and she barely pulled the pot from under the bed before they escaped her control. Wave after wave of nausea pulsed through her. Then, empty and spent, she fell onto her side on the floor.

Was he dead? Had she killed Sebastien?

Lara pushed the hair out of her face and took in some slow breaths, trying to calm the tremors that shook her. Her stomach began to calm and she dared to sit up. With a huge amount of concentration, she did not collapse. When she felt stronger, she grasped the covers of the bed and used them as support to gain her feet.

This was why women did not involve themselves in war. Oh, aye, they were victims often enough of the violence of men’s conflicts, but this was too hard to do. Living in oblivion while her father planned the death of his—their—enemies was much preferable to being a part of it. How did people live with knowing they killed both innocents and willing participants? How did they form friendships or care about anyone, when
they might send them to their deaths with a word? ’Twas too much to bear.

Lara stumbled to the window and opened it to the cool night air. Letting it pass over and around her, she tried to understand the difference between men’s souls and those of women. She had known, but never accepted, that the results of her actions would end this way. Now, the truth was so close, so strong, that the reality made it difficult to take a breath.

A sudden clamor in the yard drew her attention. The drawbridge slammed down and horses and men thundered over it. At first, she thought the keep was under attack, but she recognized one of her husband’s men carrying his banner, and knew he was here. Tears poured down freely and she sobbed out before she could control it. He was alive.

He was alive.

Then she saw him ride through the inner gate toward the keep. He looked neither left nor right and sat stiffly on his mount. One of the stable boys rushed forward and grabbed the reins from him as he slipped from the saddle. Even from this distance, Lara could tell something was wrong.

But he was alive.

Surprised and confused once more by the strength of her relief, she stepped back from the window. Should she go and greet him? Should she stay here? His men spread throughout the yard and many others poured from the keep to assist them. She stood frozen by indecision until a noise in the hallway made her move. Rubbing the tears from her face with her sleeve, she ran to the far side of the bed and waited for him to enter.

The door of the chamber flew open and slammed into the wall. She jumped at the force of it. Watching from across the room, Lara saw several of Sebastien’s retainers enter, carrying his targe, his sword and helmet. Usually Philippe carried those for his lord, but she did not see him among those crowding the chamber. Then Sebastien was there.

She drank in the sight of him filling the doorway, outlined by the torches held behind him. Servants followed him, carrying buckets of water and jugs and platters. Who had ordered this? Etienne had obviously carried out his duties as steward, even as she failed in hers as lady.

Staying in the shadows of the room, she watched as Sebastien walked over to the window and allowed others to take the last remnants of battle from him. After his armor was removed and the worst of the blood washed from his face and hands, he waved everyone out, and still she waited. The door closed quietly, almost reverently, and Lara wondered what to say to him or if he even knew she was there.

With obvious effort, he took the few steps to his chair and collapsed into it, landing hard on its wide, sturdy seat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and she could feel his despair and sadness before he spoke of anything. What had happened?

“My lord?” The words were out before she could stop them. He did not move or acknowledge her, so she thought he must have known she was there. Lara edged closer to the light and closer to him. “Are you injured?”

His words were near to a whisper. “Aye, I am that.”

She took another cautious step toward him. “Should I call for Philippe? He could summon Gara the healer.”

“Philippe is dead, Lara.”

Her breath hitched and the very air around her sparkled before her eyes, blurring her vision. Philippe was dead? How could this be? He was more child than man and not trained for battle.

“Dead?”

“His only sin was that he carried my banner. Your uncle and his allies cut him down rather than fighting me. They used that boy to draw me away and killed him without a moment’s thought.”

His words, cold and empty, filled her with horror. Philippe was full of life and humor. He’d always had a ready word of reassurance for her. He had made friends with her brother and kept him company when he was not at his duties.

Philippe was…dead. Nothing could stop the tears now, but as she was unable to speak, they fell into the anguished silence that surrounded them.

He pushed himself to his feet and began to peel off the layers he still wore. The steam from his body escaped into the chill air of the room, reminding her once more of her failures and her guilt. If he noticed that the hearth was empty, he did not mention it. Then, when she thought he would climb into the bed without saying more, he broke the silence. His voice was frightening in its bitterness.

“Someone will pay for this betrayal. I will find those responsible and I will see them hanged in my yard in punishment for the lives they took this day.”

“My lord?” she asked, praying that her own guilt was not made clear by the shaking of her voice. Clenching her teeth and clasping her hands tightly to keep them still, she waited for him to say more.

“They knew my plans. They knew too much. I will discover the spies among us and they will pay in unimaginable ways before I allow death to release them for what they have done.” His face hardened with the vehemence of his pledge, and she backed away, afraid of him as she had never been before. For the first time since his return, he faced her.

“I do not want to look on another MacDougall this night. Go now from here. Sleep elsewhere. I have not the strength left to pretend that I feel otherwise.”

Lara stumbled back against the door as she lost her balance, terrified by the hatred that spilled out of him. Try as she might to keep the sobs within her, they erupted. Fueled by honest grief and dishonest guilt, she cried out as she ran from the room, down the hallway and stairs and out into the courtyard. Grabbing up her skirts, she staggered through the confusion of men and animals and raced out the gate and across the drawbridge. If anyone tried to stop her, she knew not. Blinded by tears and the dark, she ran to the only place that had ever held any refuge for her. As it was now the site of her worst betrayal, she wondered if peace could be found there.

Entering the chapel, she struggled toward the altar. Falling to her knees, she prayed for forgiveness for causing so many deaths with her betrayals. All she could see was Philippe’s face before her, and her imaginings of his death tormented her. Unable to even kneel, she fell prostrate on the steps and cried out her grief and guilt and sorrow until she was spent. Exhausted, and with no other place that would welcome her, Lara fell asleep on the cold stone floor.

Before dawn came, she roused from her troubled sleep to the sound of the doors of the chapel opening. Sir Hugh stood outside. Struggling to her feet, she waited on his word, half expecting him to accuse her. Instead, he did something much more horrible. Stepping back, he allowed two soldiers to enter. They carried a plank between them and on the plank was a body.

“There is a priest on his way to say the Mass for him,” Hugh said, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. “Sebastien would not leave him behind.”

Lara walked to meet them and lifted the bloody sheet that covered the boy’s body. Philippe appeared to be sleeping, his face unmarred by whatever death blow had killed him. As she raised the sheet more, Hugh took her wrist to stop her.

“Do not, lady.”

She stared at him for a moment, but it was enough to make him free her hand. The boy’s face was apparently the only place not touch by the violence of the battle. A grievous wound split his shoulder and neck and another cleaved open his chest. Gasping and unable to control herself, she fell to her knees and wept openly.

She had caused this. Her need to feel important. Her need to regain a place in her clan had killed this boy as surely as if she’d held the ax in her own hand. Her refusal to accept her husband and his king—and now it was too late. Too late for the boy and the others who had perished this day.

Even Malcolm had warned her that no good would come of her resistance. He had urged her to grab hold
of the life that Sebastien offered her, and she had ignored him, taking the route of deception and betrayal that had led her here—to this lad’s death.

Sir Hugh’s strong hands clutched her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, allowing the men to carry Philippe’s body to the front of the church. She stumbled after them. A boy so young should not lie alone in the dark. She knelt next to him and reached under the sheet to take hold of his hand.

“Lady, you should come now,” Hugh said softly.

“Nay, someone should be with him.” Lara shook her head.

“Lady, please come away?” His touch on her shoulder followed his plea.

Shrugging his hand away, she screamed out at him. “Get away from me. He should not be alone in the dark. I will stay.”

She did not turn to see if they obeyed or not. Dawn could not be far away and then the priest would arrive. Until that moment, she would stay to keep Philippe company. Rubbing his cold hand, she touched it to her cheek and bowed her head to murmur a prayer she knew would be for naught.

“Forgive me, Philippe. Forgive me.”

Indecision and guilt tortured her the next weeks. The Mass and burial tore the heart out of everyone at Dunstaffnage. The sight of Malcolm’s thin shoulders sobbing silently at his friend’s death nearly destroyed her. Cat walked the halls carrying the pieces of rope that Philippe had used to teach knot-tying. Even worse than her choice of words, the child now retreated into
the silence of grief. Callum disappeared from Dunstaffnage and, to many, his departure spoke of treachery.

But no one was more painful to watch than Sebastien. He dealt with the boy’s death by ignoring it and carrying on each day as though nothing had changed. Once, when he seemed to forget, and called out Philippe’s name for some task, Lara ran crying from the room at the pain of it. He spoke not of it, to her nor to anyone, as much as she could tell, and she carried her grief and guilt in her heart.

Lara was able to learn the details of the raid that turned into a battle through a series of people. Sebastien gave a report of it to Hugh, who in turn shared some of it with Margaret. Then, Margaret gave her an account that made Lara’s blood run cold in her veins.

When Sebastien stood frozen over Philippe’s body, frozen in shock and grief, her cousin and his men had surrounded him and taunted him over the death. They’d taunted him with the treachery that had led to it, and promised they would take back Dunstaffnage and all that was theirs. It was only the quick action of James Douglas that had saved Sebastien’s life and turned the battle into a complete rout. Screaming for vengeance, he’d become the Black Douglas that everyone feared, and had led the king’s forces to victory.

Margaret whispered that none were left alive when they were done. Only a handful had escaped into the mountains surrounding the keep on the River Creran. Lara suspected that Eachann had survived, even if he had had to sacrifice others to insure his own safety and escape.

Sebastien finally came back to their bed after nearly a week of not sleeping, or sleeping elsewhere, but he was changed. Only once had he turned to her in that bed and made love to her, with a desperation that frightened her. Other than that, he kept his grief completely within himself. Even when word came of the Earl of Ross’s surrender to the king at the end of October, it did not seem to lighten his spirits or his grief.

Truthfully, Lara knew not what to say or what to do. There was so much guilt inside her that she thought of making a confession to him. Perchance she could explain why she had done what she had, and he could forgive her? One look at his expression that day told her of her folly.

But, when her courses did not come for the second month in a row, Lara knew that she must do something, she simply knew not what. The furtive delivery of a sealed parchment to her by a man she did not know took the decision out of her hands.